


Tea at Least

by Violsva



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, Gen, Great Hiatus, Hurt John Watson, Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 11:27:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4433765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violsva/pseuds/Violsva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Probably he'd just attempted heroics. Possibly he was being extremely unwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea at Least

**Author's Note:**

> Late fill for Watson's Woes July Writing [Prompt #24](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/1400152.html).

She had just been thinking that she hadn’t seen Dr. Watson in a while. He had dropped by frequently after his marriage, and then more frequently immediately after he returned alone from Switzerland. They had both needed the company, and it had been a relief to know that if she needed a doctor one would be at hand.

She needed a doctor now, certainly. Though not for herself.

“I will manage. Just find me a cab home and I’ll call on Anstruther.” Dr. Watson attempted to wave her away as he staggered to his feet, but she caught him as he stumbled and wrapped one of his arms around her shoulders.

“You’ll come in and sit down. Do you think that if you’re set upon by footpads directly outside my door I’ll let you faint from pain in a hansom cab?” He would have protested, but they were indeed nearly on her doorstep, and before he could think of what to say she was helping him out of his overcoat and shaking her head over his wounds.

“Billy!” she called, and he was there remarkably quickly. “Go fetch a doctor. Not Dr. James on the corner, someone competent.” The boy laughed a little, glanced at Dr. Watson with worry, and then ran out the door.

“Come sit down in the kitchen and I’ll make you some tea,” she said, and he followed meekly. She set herself to taking out the tea service, the good one that he’d recognize rather than her own. “Do any of your injuries need attention immediately?” she asked.

“None of them really need attention.”

“Doctor, I won’t believe that until I hear a doctor other than you say so.”

He sighed. “Well, perhaps. But nothing is life-threatening.” He didn’t sound happy, or relieved, at that. Martha frowned and busied herself with boiling water and arranging things. She’d sent her condolences at Mrs. Watson’s death, and visited him once then, but he had been playing the role of host so carefully that she hadn’t wanted to stay long, lest he buckle from the strain of holding that persona over his grief. She’d hoped it would improve with time.

She carried the tray to the table and poured for them both. “What were you doing in this neighbourhood anyway?” she asked.

“I heard a shout,” he said. “You see, I – well, I wasn’t set upon, precisely. Someone else was.”

“And they left when you were in need of help?”

He shrugged, uncomfortably, and then winced in pain. “I told her I wasn’t. And that the footpads might come back. She was a very young lady.”

Martha tutted at the girl’s rudeness, or gullibility, nonetheless. Watson changed the subject, rather obviously.

“Any new lodgers?”

“No. Mr. Holmes the elder is still paying for the upkeep of his brother’s rooms, so I don’t have need or space for them.”

“Still? Good heavens.” He frowned at his tea.

“That’s what I thought, but – well, whatever helps, I suppose.”

“Yes,” said Watson. “Yes, quite so.”

Billy returned with a doctor, then, and Martha moved chairs around in the kitchen so that he could more easily examine Dr. Watson there. She didn’t think he’d want to go upstairs, to the perfectly preserved rooms, and be reminded.


End file.
